


Chemical Dependency

by soporsensuality (mulattafury)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Biting, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, F/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mulattafury/pseuds/soporsensuality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's lonely out in space. Gamzee and Roxy find out that they have more in common than they thought. Also they bone! Soportinis all around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a very super long time ago, so a lot of stuff here is pretty irrelevant. Go easy on me! I do plan to finish this someday.

Your name is Roxy Lalonde and you're learning pretty quickly that sober isn't a good color on you. The final meeting on this meteor was one you admit you'd looked forward to, albeit with some anxiety and apprehension. But now that it's happened, now that you're really here, it's just strange and unnerving. You had little interest in these trolls, lacking Jane's friendly optimism, Jake's sense of adventure, or Dirk's curiosity, your own reluctance to trust left you quietly at bay as the odd creatures and your human counterparts tried to make sense of one another.

The meeting you had been truly looking forward to was with the girl, brilliant and beautiful, who, through the twisted machinations of this nightmare of a game, was your daughter and your mother and your sister and you.

It hadn't gone as you'd expected, but then again, you weren't sure what it was you'd been expecting. You didn't know how to react to her – neither of you did, and you knew that Dirk must have felt so much of the same upon meeting the Beta version of his Bro.

But he kept that same poker-faced impassiveness that he always did, and you... well, you'd just become a mess. And now you're on a dead space rock, hurtling at lightspeed towards oblivion, surrounded by strangers and without the comfort of inebriation to keep you sane.

You know there's a working alchemizer in the lab, but with the limited supply of buildgrist it's generally accepted that its use should be kept to a minimum, restricted to food and other necessities, and you're sure you'd have quite the time convincing the others (except, maybe, Dirk) that a bottle of Absolut is pretty much a necessity for you.

It's becoming unbearable, and you're becoming frantic. You know the others have to notice that you're around even less than usual. And you notice something, too – it's one of the trolls, the tall, lanky one with the terrifying clown makeup. You notice that faraway, dreamy look in his eyes, the same as it was the first time you saw him, but for the first time it really clicks. The vacant expression is the norm for him, and hardly worth mentioning, but far more jarring is when those eyes start to focus. There's a sharpness behind them, something frantic and animal and unglued, and when it happens the other trolls seem more leery of him than usual. Except for one, the little, angry, shouty one, who will try to either lure the taller troll up to his room or lull him into a calmer state.

You realize, for the first time, that they're keeping this one drugged.

You're not entirely sure you want to know why. Gamzee seems to be, despite his unsettling appearance, one of the more laid back and easygoing of the bunch. But maybe that's just it. Maybe this calm, cheerful, if slightly annoying and disturbing version of their friend was just a facade, and illusion crafted by a chemical haze. Maybe you're more alike than you initially thought. Maybe, if you're careful, you can score some of whatever they're feeding him to keep him so mellowed out. Maybe, if you're lucky, whatever it is won't kill you.

You see the nubby-horned troll... fuck, what is it... beep-beep meow.

Karkat. That one.

The transportalizer flashes as he returns from Gamzee's room. Alone, you note, glancing over the top of your laptop as he passes you, making a point of not meeting your gaze.

You're not particularly offended – Jade and John are about the only ones who can really put up with him. That is, after all, what is keeping you from simply asking him what it is they're giving to Gamzee, and whether you can have some. He'd probably fly right off the fucking handle at the notion, and besides, you're sure you'd prefer a more direct route with this sort of thing.

Once Karkat has settled back down in the lab, engaged with Terezi over one foolish matter or another, you casually close your laptop, making your way to the transportalizer and up to the vast chamber of the empty lab that houses Gamzee's bedroom. Respiteblock. Whatever they call it – now's not the time to gt yourself all worked up over semantics. You knock softly, three, then four and five times. No answer, he must be asleep.

This is stupid.

You are just about to turn back to the transportalizer, rejoin the group and forget this whole stupid plan, when the door opens and he's there and _wow_ he's tall and now you've got to answer for yourself.

“Well hello there, little sister,” he rasps, the corner of his wide mouth quirking into a lazy grin. “can't say I was exactly motherfuckin' expecting you to drop me a visit...”

“Oh. Were you expecting someone else? I mean, I can leave...”

“Please don't,” he says, those two simple words striking something deep within you, rooting you to the spot. 

“How about you come in and motherfuckin jam with me?”

You're not quite sure what that means. Some troll thing, you presume.

“Jam with you?”

“Fuck yeah sis. Tell me about all those sad motherfuckin' feelings I see rattling around in your thinkpan behind those pretty pink eyeballs. Get those motherfuckers out in the open and let 'em burn out in space like this motherfuckin' asteroid what we've got ourselves all strapped up on.”

“Oh.” That rough, low voice is intoxicating in its own subtle way, and when those burned-out, lazy eyes lock with yours, it feels like he's looking past you, through you, into you, and you blush. What was the plan, anyway? Again, for the record, this is stupid.

“I don't know if I can do all that,” you say truthfully, averting your eyes from the troll's thousand-yard stare.

“You just need to loosen up, little sister. Come inside, I got just the motherfuckin' thing.”

Well, maybe this is going better than you expected. You barely hesitate before following the troll into his respiteblock, closing the door behind you.

The room is unbelievably cluttered, pies of empty pie tins and what look like toy horns taking up two of the corners, the third occupied by some kind of nest made from pillows and shredded cloth. There's no bed, so you assume this is where he sleeps. A large chest takes up the fourht corner, and resting atop it is another pie tin, this one half-full of some kind of gelatinous green sludge.

“Wow, what even is this stuff?” You ask before you can stop yourself, peering at the green substance in the tin.

“It's a motherfucking miracle is what it is, sister. When I'm getting all these bad motherfucking feelings, a little pie is all it takes. Unclogs that jammed-up thinkpan and gets you all right up in your motherfucking chill.”

“Pie, huh?” It doesn't look like any pie you've ever seen, but it _is_ in a pie tin. A small smile quirks your lips, and Gamzee laughs.

“See? Smiling already, sis.” He swiped a finger through the slime and brought it to his lips, his long, purplish tongue snaking out between those razor-sharp teeth to lick it clean. “And you haven't even tried it yet.”

“Huh. Is it safe? For humans, I mean.”

Gamzee shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”

He scoops up more with his fingers, and offers you the hand. Well. This is certainly not what you expected. You don't want to seem rude, but you hesitate, and for a second that drowsy mask slips again and the sharp focus returns to the troll's eyes. Of course – he's only had half of the weird pie thing, and standing so close to him now you can see much more clearly that yes, there is something in him that this drugged stupor is meant to contain. 

“But just between us, little sister. Something about you is all up and motherfucking saying to me that you don't much care what this shit does to you, so long's it does fucking _something._ ”

Your stomach twists as you realize he's right, and another nervous smile graces your lips as you step closer.

“Bottoms up,” you say softly, dipping your head to wrap your lips around the slime-coated digits. 

The stuff is musky and bittrsweet, thick and sticky and almost certainly an acquired taste. The burn as it slides down your throat is familiar, though, as is the warmth of it in your belly, and you find yourself eager to lick up every drop, the tip of your tongue darting between knuckles and behind jagged claws until there's none left. You realize your eyes are closed and you open them to the troll staring at you with that burned-out gaze.

“Wow,” you say with a soft laugh. “Wow, that is just all kinds of good stuff right there, probably. Think I could get another shot? I mean, while you're being generous and all...”

**== > Be the other guy.**

Your name is Gamzee Makara. The pretty alien girl has just finished licking sopor from your fingers, and is now asking you for more.

**== > Give the girl what she wants.**

Motherfucking hell _yes._

You dip your fingers in the slime again, and she eagerly moves her head to lick them clean. It feels good, that hot mouth around you and that pink little tongue searching out every hint of sopor, but you try not to get lost in the sensaton, focusing instead on her features.

She reminds you, in some small ways, of that insufferable little fucking red-eyed runt of a human that you've been pitch fucking black for since you first got on this stupid rock. Not nearly as much as the other pale-haired human that you assume is her moirail (or something like it – Karkat explained to you once that humans don't have quadrants) but the similarities are there. She has the same milk-white skin, pale yellow hair, flat little nose and impossibly full, soft lips that make something uncomfortable stir in your stomach and your eyes see fucking red. You don't know whether you want to make her moan or make her scream, but as her tongue flutters against you, eyes meeting yours and demanding your attention, you realize it's both.

Her eyes are already becoming glazed, unfocused and red-tinged, and a dreamy little smile quirks the corners of he full lips as she draws them back off of your wet fingers.

Fucking beautiful.

“All done there, sister?”

“Maybe,” she teases, her mischievous laughter ringing like bells in your ears. “think I could do one more shot though...”

“Why don't we fuckin' wait on that notion, Miss Roxy? Get all cozy and let the sopor work its motherfucking magic.”

“Yeah,” she says with a nod. “Yeah, you're right.”

She lowers herself gracelessly to sit on the floor, knees drawn up and back resting against the metal chest. She laughs again, and the sound makes you shiver as you move to join her.

“Gamzee, what the fuck are we doing here?”

“Well, if I'm not motherfuckin' mistaken, we're getting our chill on and sharing some sweet fuckin' sopor.”

“No, I mean... this game, all of it. What's the point? Wait. What's the _motherfucking_ point?”

“I think the aim's to win, sis.”

“Yeah, and then what? Game over, high score? What can there be after this? I mean...”

She drapes her arms loosely around her knees, and doesn't quite look at you. You want to grab her face, turn it back towards yours, and you raise your hand to do just that, but stop yourself when she speaks again.

“What if it doesn't end? What if it's all just time loops and paradoxes and doom?”

“I might not be exactly the motherfucker to ask about this,” you say to her, head tipping back to rest against the solid form of the chest. “All I know is to keep going. Like you're on a one-wheel device all up on the thinnest motherfucker of a tightrope ever made. The carnival is dark, sister, and you can't even see the end of that motherfucker. And maybe it doesn't end. Maybe it goes on forever, or loops all back up on its motherfucking self, but that shit doesn't even matter because the only true fucking fact is that if you stop pedaling your one-wheel device, you're gonna fucking fall, and it's a long way down.”

“You'll fall eventually,” Roxy says softly. “You'll have to fall eventually.”

“Yeah,” you concede. “Eventually. But it ain't gonna be today, get me?”

“Gamzee, I'm scared,” she blurts out, quiet and all at once, and those candy-pink eyes are on yours again.

“Scared it won't end?”

“Yeah. And... scared it will.”

Her fear is so beautiful and pure, and you taste it on her lips when you kiss her. She tries to kiss you back, but you don't let her, pulling away when she leans in and crushing your lips against hers when she stops. You don't want to hurt her, not yet, and you know that impossibly soft skin would split far too easily on the edges of your teeth if you let her take control, or push that wet, pink tongue into your mouth. Not that she seems particularly inclined to notice – she's too far gone, undone. She's putty in your hands, afraid and needy and hopelessly lonely, and it's fucking beautiful.

“Oh,” she gasps when you pull away, a smirk on her now-flushed lips. “And here I thought you were space-gay for your angry little friend. Maybe my future's not as bleak and dudeless as I was led to believe...”

You have no fucking clue what any of that shit she just said even means, so you kiss her again, pulling her up onto your lap this time and letting your tongue slip past her lips. She moans into your mouth as your tongue presses in, more than a human's ever could, and you pull her legs around your narrow waist. Your claws snag on her tights when you try to hike her skirt up over her hips, and when she grinds down against you it's all you can do to keep control. Your hand catches the small of her back and you force your tongue in again, too far, and she gags and pushes you away.

“Shit,” she whispers. “Shit, Gamz, I need a bucket or something...”

“Whoa, what?”

Before you can figure out how the fuck to react to that, she's climbed off your lap and stumbled out the door. The fuck did she need a bucket for? You frown, raising shakily to your feet and taking off after her. It's your first time together, and you haven't even _done_ anything yet, and – oh, yeah. That's pretty vile.

Roxy didn't make it very far down the hallway, and now she's coughing and retching, leaning against the cold wall. Maybe the slime isn't quite as miraculous to a human as it is to you. You slide an arm around her shoulders to hold her up, trying to ignore it when the reek of vomit fills your nose.

“Mother _fuck._ Was I that bad?”

Her attempt at a laugh comes out as a pathetic little squeak, and she falls unconscious in your arms.

**Gamzee: Be the motherfucking gentleman.**

She's feather-light against your chest, and is quiet, save for unsteady breathing, as you carry her back to her respiteblock, placing her gently on the soft blankets and pillows that serve as her bed. You carefully remove her shoes and, noticing that her shirt is stained with sweat and sopor and vomit, take that off as well, and--

Oh. Fuck.

That pale and pretty skin is absolutely decadent, and seems softer, somehow, on her chest and stomach and hips and all those other smooth, gently curving places that were hidden by clothing before. You slide a hand over her stomach, up between her breasts, one of which ha slipped free from her black, silky bra, the shell-pink nipple hardening in the cool air. The hand creeps up further, claws nicking the skin but never breaking it, palming the supple flesh and stopping to rest at her neck.

The soft, slender column of flesh is so vulnerable and absolutely perfect that you can't help but squeeze, gently and slowly tighter until you hear her choke. Your hand looks huge, compared to her, and you feel that hot twist in your stomach again as she gasps and struggles and her eyes flutter open.

Obviously this isn't how you want it to happen, so you release the pretty throat in your grasp. You make sure she's breathing before pressing a kiss to her forehead and wrapping her in the blankets.

“Gamzee?” you hear her confused whisper as she tugs at fragile threads of consciousness, trying to make sense of her new surroundings. You ignore her as you walk away, closing the door behind you, but you'll definitely be back tomorrow.

**Roxy: Wake Up**

Fuck. That.

You are curled up in your makeshift bed. Your head is pounding and your stomach hurts and your mouth tastes fucking awful. What you remember from last night is blurry and surreal and you have no idea whether any of it really happened, or how you ended up safely in bed (if half-naked) and you'd rather not think about it.

You'd rather not get up at all, thanks, and frown at the notion that you might have to, pulling the blankets over your head and quickly drifting off, once again, into sweet, sweet unconsciousness. 

You'll wake up later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Roxy: Wake up later.**

When you finally manage to drag yourself out of bed, you feel a little better than you did before, but not much. After a shower and a fresh change of clothes you feel almost human. You consider your reflection in the fogged-up mirror, not feeling quite up to the strenuous regimen of hair and makeup that creates the Roxy everyone knows and loves.

The hair is especially difficult, hanging in still-damp, kinky curls around your colorless face. Without the luxury of styling tools and product, keeping your iconic hairstyle means an exhausting combination of knot-outs and wrap-sets. You wonder how Rose has kept hers so nice, and for so long. Maybe it's something the two of you could talk about – a mother-daughter sort of thing.

You smile at the thought, though for now you simply brush the unkempt curls into a well-practiced wrap, tying it down with a pink scarf. The bright colors make you feel kind of washed out – a touch of lipgloss and blush and you are tired of looking at yourself.

You have definitively decided today that you can stand to take the heat for using the alchemizer for yourself, just this once. It's five o'clock somewhere, you reason, and you don't know what fucking time it is here, or, really, if time is even an actual thing that matters anymore. You have a random spark of inspiration and try to combine the vodka you alchemized with a package of jell-o you found in the kitchen. This doesn't produce the results you expected, instead creating a bottle of rainbow-flavored liquor. You have no clue what rainbow-flavored entails, but it sounds amazing.

After captchaloguing the bottle, you glance quickly outside to make sure no one's coming, and make quick work of clearing your activity from the machine's cache. The tech was something Dirk had designed, and had proven to be incredibly useful on more than a few occasions, but for now you figured it was probably best to keep this quiet. The missing buildgrist probably wouldn't go unnoticed, but without any record of what it was used for it might be attributed to oversight or error. Dirk would be able to figure it out, but to be fair he would probably already know without ever checking the machine. He'd just wonder why you hadn't done it sooner. That beautiful bastard.

With your incriminating loot in tow you make your way back to the room. Once inside, you consider the rainbow vodka with a frown. The bottle is cool, the liquid clear, but when you pour yourself a shot it's bright red and cherry flavored. Interesting. The next is lime-green and by the time you get to the fourth you think it's somewhere between passionfruit-pineapple and strawberry-mango. Terezi would probably get a kick out of it, but you don't plan on sharing. It's been too long and your head's getting fuzzy and yes yes yes you're finally starting to feel like you again, the you you want to be.

You recline on your bed, reaching for your laptop, and frown when you remember leaving it in the lab the night before. Before you went up to Gamzee's room, and...

Oh. Right. Something had happened with Gamzee last night, and you can't help but blush and grin at the thought. He's not exactly your type, but the hazy memories of those large hands on your thighs and that pointed purple tongue snaking past your lips is...nice, at the very least. You remember the sopor, warm and bitter on your tongue.

And then something super embarrassing happened and now he probably wouldn't want anything to do with you. Par for the course.

Your PDA is still under your pillow, though the battery is long dead, and you plug it in just to make sure you haven't missed anything and oh boy have you. Both Jane and Dirk have been pestering you all day – apparently you've been asleep for longer than you realized. You ignore Jane for the moment, not sure you want her to see you in your current state. Dirk apparently has your laptop, and you are about to message him about coming to retrieve it, but you're interrupted by a new message from Gamzee.

Roxy: Answer

**TC began trolling TG**

**TC: sLeEp It OfF yEt, SiS?**

**TG: oh man and then some lmao**

**TG: uh listen tho im sorry about last night**

**TC: nOtHiNg To Be MoThErFuCkInG sOrRy FoR**

**TC: bUt MaYbE wE'lL gIvE yOu A lItTlE lEsS sOpOr NeXt TiMe**

**TC: cAuSe ItS a MoThErFuCkInG sHaMe YoUr SeNsItIvE hUmAn BiOlOgY hAd To AlL gO aNd RuIn OuR mIrAcLe-MakInG**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: wait**

**TG: you sya next time loike you want there to b ea next time**

**TC: I wAs KiNd Of MoThErFuCkInG pLaNnInG oN tHeRe BeInG a NeXt TiMe**

**TC: iF yOuRe ChIlL wItH ThAt, SiS**

**TC: (o;**

**TG: I think I cuold be convnced**

**TG: *wonk***

**TC ceased trolling TG**

**TG: ??**

**TG: Gamz?**

  
  


You don't know what to make of his sudden exit, but there are more important things to deal with. Or, at least other things to take your mind off of whatever weird thing is going on between you and the creepy stoner troll. 

Roxy: Pester Dirk.

**TG started pestering TT**

**TG: are you still there**

**TG: yoohoo!! di-stri!**

**TT: There you are, finally. I had begun to wonder whether you'd finally succumbed to your impromptu binge of blind stinking sobriety.**

**TG: haha im laughin my butt off here strider**

**TG: ur insihgt into my charactr is a winespring as usual**

**TG: aww inspirng***

**TG: w/e***

**TT: …**

**TT: You're drunk.**

**TG: no**

**TT: That wasn't a question.**

**TG: I hve one**

**TT: One what?**

**TG: A qestion duh**

**TG: would you ever like make out with one of these troll guys**

**TG: like just get crazy space gay with one of those grey fellas**

**TT: Roxy where were you last night?**

**TG: you cnat answera question w a question strider**

**TT: In that case the answer is yes, but my question still stands.**

**TG: omg which one tho???!**

**TG: *gaps* or have u already made space jams w someone and didnt tell me?**

**TT: You can't answer a question with a question, Lalonde.**

**TT: I tried to bring your laptop to you, but you weren't in your room. I couldn't find you anywhere.**

**TG: such is the nature of ~mysterious voidy powers~**

**TG: ;3**

**TT: You're dodging the question.**

**TG: im here now though you could bring it**

**TG: or I could come get it w/e**

**TG: wait i'll come get it and you can hel p w my hair**

**TT: I suppose you assume I can do hair for the same reason you assume I'm gay.**

**TG: wat no**

**TG: I dont think you can do hair b/c ur gay**

**TG: I know you can b/c ur hair is always fuckin perfect**

**TT: Fair enough.**

**TG: well ill be over soon**

**TG: wait someones at the door**

**TG ceased pestering TT**

Of course it would be Gamzee. Of course, while you're looking all sickly and pale and drunk with your hair pulled back and a giant, ugly t-shirt draped over your petite frame – that's when he'd show up. And of course you'd go straight for the door without even considering it might be him.

  
  


You can never seem to get over how tall he is. The top of your head barely comes up to his chest, and it's quite a thing to look up into those faraway eyes, that tired smile, that stupid makeup.

  
  


“Oh. Uh. Hey, Gamzee...” you smirk. “Can't say I was expecting you to drop me a visit.”

  
  


“I can leave if you want, sis.”

  
  


“Get your pointy grey butt in here and close the door!” You laugh, pulling him inside as the door slides shut behind him.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok just posting the rest of this in one big chunk. i admit that formatting stuff for this website completely escapes me. enjoy!

Gamzee is a fan of the weird vodka you alchemized. The sopor makes him mellow and lethargic, but the alcohol seems to ignite that strange, feral something that hides within him, and it's a strange combination. He's relaxed and chill as ever, sprawled across your bed with you draped over his chest, but his eyes focus so readily on you, watching your every move, and he seems like he's seconds away from pouncing on you.

You have to admit you kind of like it.

He's not so much a fan of the pink scarf covering your hair, and you try to bat his hand away when he reaches for it but you're too drunk and sopor-dizzy to do much more than grab his wrist and giggle once he's already taken it off. Your hair falls in still-damp half-wavy curls and he grins, runs his fingers through it. Calls it a beautiful fucking miracle.

You usually hate it when people touch your hair, cooing over it like you're a goddamn sheep at a petting zoo, but somehow it's okay when it's Gamzee. It's not condescending or uncomfortably racially-charged, he just likes it. He likes the way you look. He likes you, as-is, and you can tell he fucking wants you.

And when his mouth is on yours, so hot and needy, you can't help but groan. Those massive hands are pulling you closer, grabbing at your clothes, and you straddle his stomach, hands flat against his chest. The taste of liquor and sopor is on his breath, in his mouth, the smell of it on his skin. Your lips move away from his, leaving grey streaks of facepaint in wet trails along his neck, licking and biting and sucking.

Your thighs are splayed across his stomach in this position – god he's so much bigger than you – and he pulls your hips tight against him, fingers sliding beneath your oversized tee-shirt to rake claws teasingly light along your back. You moan and he growls and those claws turn outward, carelessly rending the shirt from inside. They could tear you apart just as easily, and there's a certain undeniable thrill to the danger. You shiver, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin as he pulls the shredded cloth from your body, those hungry eyes drinking in the sight of your naked torso.

He kisses you again, biting this time, hard enough to hurt but not to break the skin, and his hands tremble as those claws dig into your flesh. You can tell he's holding back and the thought makes you moan, and when he pulls back from the kiss you're shaking and panting and eager for more.

You slide down lower on his body, straddling his hips now, ghost-white hands pushing his shirt up over his chest. He's so oddly-built, broad-shouldered but thin, his ribs outlined when he arches his spine, prominent hipbones jutting from either side of his narrow waist. You don't mean to bite as hard on that indigo-flushed nipple as you do, but with the way he twitches and growls and jerks his hips you can't help but do it again.

He's a mess of flat planes and bony angles, and it's hard to find places on that lean torso soft enough to pull into your mouth and really dig your teeth into, but you manage. You manage rather well, in fact, leaving blue-black bruises across the slight musculature of his chest, down his quivering stomach, and by the time your mouth rests above his low-slung pants you hardly even notice that he has no navel.

Your hands move slowly as you unbutton his pants, and you hope he takes your hesitance as being teasing, deliberate. The truth is, if the rest of him is any judge for size, you are extremely nervous about what you might find. You flash him a playful smile, however, pressing a kiss to his stomach as you drag his pants and boxers down around his hips. You take a breath, determined to play it cool no matter what kind of freaky alien junk you're about to see, and oh holy hell apparently a belly-button isn't the only thing he doesn't have.

“Oh,” you gasp, despite the resolution you made only moments before. “I didn't realize you were...”

You cut yourself off before you can say “female,” because what Gamzee's packing looks rather a lot like a pussy, but you don't want to seem rude. Would that even be rude? You're not sure, and you're not really thinking about it any more because you're starting to notice the ways his anatomy is actually very different from your own.

His... fuck, you're not actually sure what to call it. It's where a clit would be and it's flushed purple and hard, and oh, wow, he _really_ seems to like the way you're running your fingers over it, but it's much larger than yours (comparatively speaking), protruding past the soft folds that surround it and pulsing in a way that you're pretty sure yours doesn't.

“You didn't motherfucking realize _what_?” Gamzee hisses.

“Nothing,” you reply too quickly, much more interested now in the way he's opening to your fingers. His reply catches in his throat when you slide two fingers inside of him and _wow_ it's so smooth and wet and warm, and the way he arches and moans as you slowly fuck him with the slim digits is so sexy you can't stand it.

You kind of wish you weren't so much smaller than him, so you could lean up and kiss that sopor-burned throat as he moans it raw for you. His chest and stomach will have to do, and you run your lips over that smooth grey skin as you work him apart with your fingers.

It's kind of absurd – the big, scary alien writhing and moaning beneath the touch of a tiny human girl. You're loving every second of it.

“Hey Gamzee,” you purr in a pretty decent if somewhat slurred attempt at a seductive voice. “What do you call this?”

As if to clarify, you add a third finger and slide them in deep, spreading them apart. It's a moment before he can answer you, but you don't really mind.

“You mean – ah, _fuck_! - you mean my nook?” He gasps, hips jerking up against your probing fingers.

“That's just precious. What about this?”

Your thumb curls up to stroke the hard purplish nub, and the growl that rumbles in his chest makes you shiver. It's so fucking primal and _hot_ and you want him to do it again.

“My bulge? You don't got one or something?”

“Seriously? I guess it is kind of bulge-y...” You giggle, and the growl he makes this time is tense and frustrated. You think you like that sound just as much as the first, if not more.

“Gamzee?”

“Fuck, _what_!?” He snarls, chest heaving and back arching as he steadily becomes undone beneath your fingers.

“Do nooks like tongues?”

“Oh, shit,” he whispers. “Sister, my nook would motherfucking _love,_ your tongue.”

You smirk and pull the fingers out, the digits slicked translucent indigo, and yeah that's kind of weird and a little gross but you're too drunk-stoned-horny to really care. You hear him groan when you lick your fingers clean.

The salty-tangy flavor of sex isn't an unfamiliar one, and vaguely reminds you of your tipsy dalliances with Jane. She'd never been quite brave enough to reciprocate your little “experiments,” but you'd never really minded that much. The heady smell and taste of her as you rubbed yourself off through your panties had always been just as good in your mind, if not better.

This is similar, yes, but Gamzee's nook pulsing, open, and leaking as you stroke its walls with probing fingers is so much more exotic, thrilling, forbidden and undeniably alien. His taste is familiar, but there's a heavy afterburn, bittersweet and otherworldy, and oh god you can't wait to have more of it.

That animal growl rips through him again when your tongue slides in deep, and a whine escapes your own parted lips, your thighs pressed tight together and your hips rocking awkwardly. You start fucking him with your fingers again, hard and fast, and when your tongue curls around the flushed tip of his bulge he fucking loses it, grabbing the back of your head with a hoarse groan, hips rutting up against your mouth.

You try to hold him down with your free hand and aren't nearly strong enough, but after a not-quite-gentle bite to the tender folds of flesh in your mouth he seems to get it, loosing a shuddering moan and trembling as he tries to keep from thrusting against you again.

**Gamzee: Behave!**

It's kind of really motherfucking hard to behave when you've got a sexy little sister like Roxy all sliding her miraculous little tongue up into your nook, but you're _trying._ Her mouth feels so fucking _good_ , and without the dangerous edge of fangs and claws she can do things to you that you'd never even thought were possible. Those flat, sparkly-white little chompers still fucking hurt when she bites down, though, and it's a nice little edge, that scolding sting of pain when you try to grind against that hot mouth or wind your fingers too tight in that magic-soft springy-curly hair.

Your bulge fucking _throbs_ when she drags her tongue over it, hardening in its sheath, your nook tightening around Roxy's fingers as it fills out. You're shaking with frustration as the steady pressure of her fingers keeps the length from fully unsheathing, keeping you right at the edge of release, and it's _so_ motherfucking _good_. You're so wet and hot and you want her to just _motherfucking fuck you already_ but at the same time you don't want her to ever, ever stop.

But then again, it's not exactly fair that she's giving you all this beautiful attention and not getting any for herself. You sit up, reaching over her to tug her hips up until she's kneeling down there between your legs, her round little ass up in the air and her fingers and mouth still making fucking miracles all up against your nook. You drag those short little shorts she's wearing down her pale thighs, and she wiggles them down and kicks them off.

Now she's naked and you're fully clothed and that's not fair either, so you pull your shirt over your head, managing for once to not get the garment caught in your horns (those motherfuckers are getting bigger everyday) and casting it aside. And that's pretty much all you have the patience for because fuck her mouth is _good_ and you're just about ready to see what this alien girl has between her own pretty thighs.

You slide a hand down her back and she shivers, and when you curl yourself around her head, knees spread and your chest nearly pressed against her back, she stops for a moment, surprised.

“Oh, damn,” she murmurs against you, giggling. “I should have figured you'd be crazy-flexible, huh?”

You grin and slide a finger between her legs. She moans and her mouth goes right back to what it's supposed to be doing.

The pale blond curls between her legs are pretty different, but you kind of like it, soft and damp against your fingers. What's strange is that she doesn't seem to have a bulge, just a pretty pink slit that's kind of like a nook but not really.

“Hey, sis, I got a little bit of a conundrum here,” you say softly, nudging her mouth away from you for a moment.

“In that I'm not seeing your bulge. Is it motherfucking hiding or something or am I just all doing this wrong?”

“Oh! Hah... I don't have one of those, Gamz. Well, not one like yours, I mean, 'cause...”

She trails off, squirming onto her side so you can see, spreading herself open with the fingers of her unoccupied hand to show you a tiny little pink nub hidden in those slick folds.

“So that's it, huh?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice catching and a pleading groan escaping her throat when you drag a finger over the tiny thing, careful of your claws.

“Oh...” You don't mean to sound disappointed, but...

Oh.

_Oh._

“Sis, why don't you take out those motherfucking fingers,” you say, voice quiet and even as you lean back on the bed again, eyes burning into hers.

“Wait, what? Why?”

She looks nervous. She probably thinks she's done something wrong.

“Because it's my motherfucking turn.”

You hiss when she pulls the fingers out all at once, but the aching emptiness only lasts a moment before your own hand is between your legs, rubbing hard against your bulge, and a purr rumbles deep in your chest as it can finally fucking unsheathe without those teasy little fingers pressing up into your nook. It pushes hard and leaking into your hand, and Roxy's eyes are wide, staring at you as she rests her head against your hip.

“Y-yeah, mine is definitely not like yours,” she says with a laugh, and then those soft little hands are around you and that is another fucking miracle altogether. She starts to take you into her mouth and oh _fuck_ you want her to but you're too motherfucking close to deal with that right now so you push her away.

“Didn't I just all and fucking say that it was my turn?”

She's on her back before she can respond, and you silence her surprised gasp with your mouth. She tastes like you and that's fucking perfect because right now she's _yours_ – every little pale fucking inch of that pretty pink body is yours for the taking.

Her eyes are wide when you pull back and she looks afraid and maybe she should be, but she doesn't ask you to stop. You don't motherfucking intend to stop. You rake your teeth down the side of her neck, leaving angry red scratches and marveling at how easy it is to mark her skin. You sink a bruising bite into one of her delicate shoulders, and she moans aloud, grasping at your horns and that's fucking _good_. It's almost unreal how much you like that she likes it when you hurt her.

You slide your tongue over the fresh mark you've made on her skin, and she moans again. It should be mostly hidden by her clothes, but you know you'll be able to see it if you look for it, and imagining it is really fucking turning you on. There's an odd, dull sensation as the human girl slides her fingers over the ridges in your horns, and you smirk against the bruised flesh. She seems fascinated by them, and you guess that makes sense – they are conspicuously absent on all eight of the humans.

“You like those motherfuckers or something?” You tease her.

“I kind of do, yeah,” she whispers. “I mean, they're kind of fucking sexy for some reason.”

You start to answer her but she does the oddest fucking little thing then, arching her back and dragging her tongue in a slow stripe along the side of one of your horns. You almost laugh at the strange gesture, but the way she's writhing and undulating beneath you as she mouths the bony appendage is kind of motherfucking distracting. Her perky little tits are just _right in your face_ and you wrap your tongue around one of those pale pink nipples, biting it softly, making her shiver and whine. God it's so fucking good, it's all you can do not to--

“Gamz, you're holding back,” she accuses, running her fingers through your hair. She seems to notice the way you jerk and twitch when her fingers slide over the sensitive bed of your horns, and starts kneading the area mercilessly with her knuckles.

Oh, _fuck_.

Your arms tremble as you struggle to hold yourself up above her, and she inches herself down to wrap her legs around you, thighs pressed against your ribs and her ankles hooking behind your back. That slick, wet heat between her legs is all pressed up against you and you groan, desperate and needy, because you can't wait to feel it stretched tight around you.

“I could hurt you,” you hiss, grinding down against the bed as her fingers continue working the tender skin beneath them.

“Do you want to?” She whispers, fingers brushing so softly down the side of your face, tilting your chin up to meet her eyes.

“Yeah,” you gasp, resting your weight on one arm as your other hand slides down her waist, gripping tight at her hip. “Yeah, I want to make you motherfucking _scream_ , do you fucking understand me? I want that pretty, candy blood running through my motherfucking fingers, sister...”

She shivers and you growl and she moans and the sound is so fucking pretty that your hand flashes up to choke it quiet because you're too fucking close to losing control. You lean in close, eyes burning into hers, as your hand tightens on her neck.

She doesn't know the fucking things you've done – doesn't know that there used to be twelve of you. She just tries to moan again, and arches up against you when she can't, her pale arms flinging around your neck and dragging her weak little claws over your shoulders so fucking hard that they come away stained with your blood. You snarl and lick her lips, loosening your grip on her neck, and when she gasps for air you wrench her jaw open and shove your tongue inside, kissing her hard and deep as you shift on the bed to kneel over her.

She bites your tongue and you hiss, peeling her legs from around you and forcing her down onto the bed, slipping a hand between her legs to rub a finger along that pretty little slit. She lets out a strangled groan against your mouth at that, rutting up against your hand and giving another pleading little whimper when the motion makes that unbelievably soft skin catch and tear on the edge of one of your claws.  
The smell of blood is faint against the reek of sweat and sex, but it's there and mixes beautifully, and you know your wavering sense of self-control is fading fast. She seems to know it, too, digging her fingers into that sensitive area of your scalp and pulling away from the bruising kiss when you gasp, brushing her lips against your ear.

“You won't break me,” she reassures you. “It's okay, Gamz. Remind me that I'm alive...”

She slides a leg up to rub the edge of her foot against your bulge, still painfully hard and flushed a dark, angry purple, nearly black. You shove her back down, a warning growl rumbling in your chest, and she groans at the sound. She really seems to get off on getting you worked up, frustrated, violent – if only she knew what she was fucking getting into with you.  
But the way she moans and twists beneath you is undeniably fucking beautiful, and you want her to do it again. Holding her hips down with one hand, you grind the knuckles of the other against that tiny little nub she showed you earlier. Her eyes snap open and she tries to rock up against you and pull away at the same time.

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” She bites her lip hard, a choked groan still escaping them, her head tipping back as bloodied little fingers pinch and tug at one of her nipples. The sight is so fucking perfect you can't help but grind your fingers faster and harder against her. Her pleased moan hitches in her chest and her eyes squeeze shut, kiss-bruised lips hanging open as she pants and moans and you bend down to lick them.

“Too much,” she squeaks. “Too much, you're gonna make me-”

“Is that motherfucking right?” You growl, digging hard against her and unable to tell if the strained cry she makes is pleasure or pain. “You can't handle this, but you want me to hurt you?”

She presses her lips together, nodding eagerly, and when you take your hands away you laugh as she rocks and whines at the lack of contact. You lick the back of your finger, tasting her, and it's so fucking beautiful you can't wait another fucking second before dragging her hips towards you and burying your tongue inside of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all for now. i promise i will finish this someday, though it's likely i will completely rework it to reflect new canon knowledge as well as, uh, my current skill level in writing haha. oh please go read some of my other fics they're better


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